


Stifle Me

by whatacartouchebag



Category: RWBY
Genre: A Little Light Angst, M/M, and a heaping helping of feelings, and a side order of smooch, semblances and second guessings oh my, with a touch of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Yet Qrow knew what it felt to have eyes upon him. Qrow knew the way it felt when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end – usually for the most sour of reasons in his experience – but he trusted the sensation all the same.His gut instinct never usually steered him wrong at the best of times.Now it was veritably grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.So he did what he was utterly best at, and took the direct route.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	Stifle Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alphaparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaparrot/gifts).



> Based loosely as a sequel to another of my works, [Come Unstuck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23169928), but it's not necessary to have read it to catch anything. It's mainly used for the purposes of them travelling from Mantle to Atlas, and it worked as a good starting point.
> 
> It's also part of a gift exchange over on discord, so here you go Alpha! ♥
> 
> The weight of the world  
> All falls away  
> In time  
> ~Good Riddance, Ashley Barrett

It was there, in the corners of his sight.

It had _been_ there for some days, and Qrow felt his patience beginning to wear as thin as the ice they'd both nearly fallen through during their last mission together.

He felt the way green eyes would glance over to him – a cautious glance at his whereabouts in the middle of a skirmish, a look seeking confirmation during mission briefings, the way eyes lingered upon him after laughter shared together.

Quietly, secretly, those eyes would seek his form.

There was weight in each and every one of the ways Clover thought he could get away with allowing his eyes to flit briefly to the huntsman. The man was subtle; he would certainly give him that. Yet Qrow knew what it felt to have eyes upon him. Qrow knew the way it felt when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end – usually for the most sour of reasons in his experience – but he trusted the sensation all the same.

His gut instinct never usually steered him wrong at the best of times.

Now it was veritably grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

So he did what he was utterly best at, and took the direct route.

It was after a mission in Mantle. Stolen dust crystals and a cache of weapons had finally been recovered after a month of fruitless searching and useless tip-offs. In the short scuffle that followed, Qrow suffered a particularly nasty gash to his forearm and a rather large dent to his pride thanks to a misfire of Misfortune.

Even if he _was_ getting better at controlling it.

He released the delicate hiss across his tongue as he ran fingers along a bandaged arm, knowing it would likely take a couple of days to properly heal. The medics had tended to him swiftly, even if he wanted nothing of the sort; he knew he'd be perfectly fine after bathing it and leaving it alone.

He even went so far as telling them _exactly_ that, until Clover stuck his damn nose in with a cheeky smile and wayward comment about Huntsman Branwen not playing by the rules, and to make sure he received the proper treatment, no matter what he said.

It earned the bastard a thorough glare that did _nothing_ but prompt the smirk from gracing those lips.

Qrow's irritation lasted only a handful of time, and the heavy sigh flooded from him, shoulders slumping wearily as the operative laughed gently at him. He leant his head back against the inside of the Manta as the last of the medics filed out. All he  _really_ wanted to do was get some decent sleep; mission reports be damned.

They did the job, they got out, and they were both none the worse for wear.

That's all that ever mattered to him during a mission, and it's all that should have mattered to James.

There was a clean whirr of an engine beneath his feet, and red eyes glanced to the front of the transport, watching with idle interest as Clover began prepping the mighty machine for takeoff. Someone else was just as keen to leave the scene, it seemed, and the brief smile crossed his lips as he stood.

Making his way to the cockpit, he flopped heavily into the copilot's seat, automatically propping one foot onto the console and allowing his injured arm to rest across a stomach. It barely earned him a glance from the operative, but even Qrow couldn't miss the faint quirk of those lips at the motion.

“Command, this is Manta six-two-four,” Clover spoke into the receiver as he flipped a few final switches and returned his hands to the controls. “Mission complete and we're proceeding to Atlas docking bay echo nineteen.” A beat of time and a short fizz of static later, and the radio came to life about them.

“Confirmed, Manta six-two-four. Flight path green. You're good to go.”

The words had barely left the air when there was a gentle dip of gravity beneath them, and Clover expertly began to guide the Manta from the ground, slipping easily between buildings and signs, streetlights and power lines, all with the barest tilt and flick of controls. Qrow closed his eyes, relaxing into the lull of movement around them, and feeling part of him start to unwind a little.

Mission complete, just as the man had said. And for the most part, it went off without a hitch.

Fingers curled where they lay in his lap, and his bandage began to itch.

Mostly.

There always  _were_ some creases to iron out along the way.

The heavy sigh fell into the space between them once they were clear of the last delicate obstacle, and Qrow glanced over at the brunet. For a handful of heartbeats, Clover looked weary. Exhausted. And fingers reached up to comb through hair, gently pushing his thoughts aside before they slipped too far.

“What a night...” came the low murmur of a voice.

Qrow glanced ahead once more, faint smile whispering across his lips. “It wasn't all bad...” he breathed. The skyline of Mantle broke about them; aglow from within in the evening dark, tracing steam and smoke alike into the deep velvet blue above. It was a perspective on the world that Qrow would never tired of, no matter where in Remnant he stood, and he closed his eyes once more, letting it linger in his memories as relaxation nipped at his senses.

“Caught the bad guys... even got to punch someone. And I know _you_ got to do the same,” he rumbled softly, and the words brought the gentle laugh from deep within the brunet's chest.

But he knew those green eyes lingered in more than fond amusement.

Fingertips pressed lightly where they lay across a stomach.

He drew in a deeper breath, letting it sigh out of him before firmly fixing his gaze upon the man. To his credit, Clover only blinked back in mild surprise at the intensity that met his eyes.

“So what's up?”

The question, gently spoken, but sharp in stature was enough to bring pause to the man. No, he knew this was no idle remark from the huntsman, and to treat it as such would be a fool's errand. He gathered himself a little as he mentally scratched for a response, lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced away once more.

Green eyes poured their focus upon the glow of Mantle, yet they saw anything but.

“Just... wondering why you were so vehement about refusing the medics back there.”

The soft sound of amusement slipped from the huntsman, and he gave a light shake of his head. But still he refused to let his gaze waver from the man.

“Believe it or not, I'm a big kid now. I can tie my own shoelaces and everything,” he replied simply. A brief flourish of fingers to display his injured arm. “Something like this is nothing; barely worth the fuss.”

Gloves tightened ever so faintly about the controls, and the barest creak of leather escaped into the deathly quiet of the cockpit.

“You... know it doesn't have to be like that...” A gentle brush of words, hesitant in their form, but it was enough to still whatever retort sat upon the huntsman's tongue. Red eyes flicked over the man, seeing the way he sat straight in his chair. Seeing how those green eyes wanted to follow the streetlights far below them, instead of the gaze beside him. Seeing how fingers all but choked the controls he still held.

His words were delicate, but the tension that ran through him was like a tidal wave.

Those red eyes narrowed a hair, wondering not for the first time what lay underneath the water.

“You're used to travelling alone, or looking after others first; I understand that,” Clover's voice bustled ahead, hoping to fill the choking void between them. “But you don't need to worry about that here.”

Ah, came the stray though to the huntsman's mind. So  _that's_ where it was coming from.

“We have the facilities and the resources to help, even if you think it's 'barely worth the fuss,'” he continued, hoping the faint smile that brushed his lips would be enough to assuage the intensity of the eyes upon him. “So you don't have to treat yourself this way. You can-”

“Clover.”

The gentle tone of his name was enough to bring green eyes down to the console, and for a heartbeat of time, he looked more like a reprimanded child than he did Captain of the Atlesian Military.

Qrow knew where the man was coming from, and it was almost endearing to see if it wasn't so damn irritating.

“You mean _you_ can help me.”

Those green eyes couldn't have snapped to him any faster if he tried, and Qrow knew in a heartbeat that he was utterly right.

At least, until brunet brows furrowed, and Clover glanced away for a moment as the answer skittered upon his tongue. “That's... not entirely true,” he told him, somewhat guarded. Fingers loosened their hold upon the controls, and a thumb brushed across metal.

“But I'm not wrong,” Qrow needled him gently, even if he was attempting to be kind about it.

There was a breath of silence that stretched between them, and all that struck through was the quiet hum of the engine as they ascended towards the lofty heights of Atlas. Fingers slipped from the controls in the same moment as the faint sigh traced from the man, and he leant forward with a gentle smile upon his lips, enabling the autopilot for the Manta. The machine had their flight path entered into its system; he trusted it to take them both home safely.

But the motion alone was enough to pique Qrow's interest.

“No, you're not wrong,” the delicate words slipped from him, and those green eyes met the huntsman's once more as he turned his seat to face him fully. “I _do_ want to be able to help you, and... I'm more than glad that you've let me do so already.”

Lips parted to continue, and Qrow saw the brief flicker of hesitation well up in the man once more. The huntsman stayed his own tongue, and let him find what he needed to say. Watched, as gloved fingers came to rest on thighs, and green eyes followed their movement.

“It's... been good,” came the gentle admission. Fingertips curled lightly upon white cloth, and there were more words welled light within his throat, stilled for the moment. At least until there was the faintest pull to that smile.

Something secret, just for the two of them.

“For... both of us.”

Red eyes could only blink back at him, not realising it would even be where Clover's words would take them. He glanced to the console, almost feeling an odd twinge of guilt that he'd pressed the man and shuffled him into this unexpected corner, which was a strange sensation when he was vastly used to the emotion itself.

Guilt, he was used to.

With Clover it felt... almost foreign.

So he let the words settle deep into his chest, just as the man intended, and he allowed his gaze to flick outwards to the vast stretch of snow and ice between the twin cities. Already the sight of Mantle's skyline was slipping from view as their Manta continued its slow spiral upwards to the shining city within the clouds.

That orange glow still glittered into the far reaches of the world surrounding the crater city, and the easy smile found its way to his expression.

A city caught in eternal night, come the dead of winter, casting little else but eternal sunset upon the snow about it.

“It has...” he murmured, almost to himself, and he felt, more than saw, the way those eyes followed him as he kept his gaze on the frozen land already so far below them. He knew what Clover was trying to tell him, and as delicate as he was, as subtle as he was trying to be, there was no way he could truly hide what it was he was saying to the huntsman.

Too many years of practice, picking out the pieces in between. Plucking at the meaning nestled within the words. Tracing his fingertips across the surface of secrets and knowing their feel.

“I... don't regret it for a moment.”

The whispered admission slipped from him before he could give it pause, and he found that it didn't burn across his tongue like words of truth were normally wont to do.

Nor did it leave him sharply realising what he'd said, wanting only to scrabble and gather the words before they could take root; collect them within his fingers and keep them close.

They only brought the gentle brush of amusement from his throat, and the smile broke broad across his lips as he sat up properly. He leant forward a little, elbows resting casually on his knees.

Maybe this time, he meant it.

“Makes me kinda glad we had to come all the way up to Atlas,” he added, the statement tracing from him like a private joke. There was soft laughter at his words, and he met green eyes.

“Only kinda?” Clover asked him in delicate tease.

Qrow could only allow the same breath of laughter to slip from him, but it was a sound flooded with affection for the man. How strange a thing, his mind whispered to him, even as the mirth faded and he returned his gaze to the glittering world about them.

Much like the words he would once chase and clutch far away from sight, something as simple as delicate laughter and softly teasing words had slipped back into his life so easily. As quiet as a butterfly taking refuge upon a daisy, he'd found contentment with the man at his side.

He'd found... well.

He found that he enjoyed the sound of someone taking easy amusement from his words, and responding brightly to it. Conversation with a like-minded soul was wonderful, and to hear that rich laughter alongside it was little more than a blessing.

He enjoyed listening to the world slumber about him, red eyes tracing each shift of breath and languid stretch of skin, as fingertips delicately hesitated to touch the man as he slept on. Still unsure that something once so distant was now resting it's head alongside his own, and to touch it would mean it was all so real.

He enjoyed placing his trust in knowing where an attack would land, following his own strike with a symmetry of liquid silk as they poured and doused themselves upon their opponents; splashing deep onto the ice and sluicing through them all.

He enjoyed the way something long since forgotten and buried would prickle at his chest when a certain coffee mug was left out for him in the thin dawn light of another day. An offhand comment about bitter winters, and a certain old bird disliking them so early in the morning, and Qrow soon found a larger mug waiting for him; something to wrap cold fingers thoroughly about, he'd found.

He enjoyed so many things that the man had shown him. That he'd delicately helped him sift and sort through. Had guided his hands towards, and helped brush fingertips across a rusted surface.

... he enjoyed not having to bear the burden of another's safety if he lingered too close.

He found that he actually pitied himself for the time when he believed that there was safety on his own, without a team. And he was glad – utterly so – that the man had been the final, gentle push to letting tight and aching fingers loosen about such a notion.

The secret whisper of a smile found him, and red eyes lost their focus on the glow upon the snow, so far below them.

He might even love him, just a little.

“Is mostly any better?” he offered the operative, his own words pulling him back from lingering too close. Clover shook his head lightly in response.

“Not really,” he answered, soft but blunt, an eloquent strike to the back of the neck. Lips parted, and words stayed where they formed, dry upon the man's tongue. He waited, just a beat, until those red eyes found him once more, and he lifted gloved fingers from a thigh, easily reaching into the distance between them.

Qrow followed the easy movement of that upturned palm, fingers outstretched, and the whisper of a smile once so secret found it no longer needed to remain so. Warmth found his expression as he slipped his own fingers into that waiting hand, threading together as if cast as one.

“But I'll take what I can,” Clover finished.

The huntsman felt his smile hitch as the words struck true, and he offered a gentle squeeze of fingers in return.

“Well, I'll keep trying then,” he told him simply. Red eyes glanced back at the man, and the wink he graced the operative with was nothing short of completely intentional cheek. “Maybe one day you'll get lucky.”

It was with bright abandon that Clover's laughter met his words, and he enjoyed it. He relished the rich tone of it as it sang through the space between them, wrapping about him and squeezing tight, just as those fingers did.

He enjoyed how it loosened something in his chest, and how he felt it delicately sweeping aside the years of dust upon a rusty surface.

And he enjoyed it most of all because those eyes didn't need to follow him in secret any longer.

“I think I already am.” The man's voice cut him off, even as he parted his lips to continue. Yet there was something in those eyes that kept him from giving voice to his own words. There was something in the way those green eyes ducked away, following where hands met.

If he were anyone else, he would have almost brushed it aside; seen the gesture as an affectionate one, as Clover kept his gaze upon their easy connection.

But he was little else than himself, and he had a lifetime of knowing what small gestures could truly mean.

“In that case, I'm glad,” he told him softly, and he turned himself to completely face the man, giving him his full attention. “And we've got a little time left on this tin can, so...” Qrow waited for those seafoam green eyes he'd grown so fond of to meet his own.

“What's up?” Fingers gave a gentle squeeze as he repeated his question from earlier, and Clover found part of his mirth still within his chest. “And I want you to trust me this time.”

Those green eyes seemed to freeze on the huntsman, and for a startlingly long moment of clarity, Qrow saw little else but the delicate surprise his words wrought in him. A flicker of something – there and gone again – crossed behind those eyes, as the brunet drew weighted debate across his tongue, and tasted his bittersweet response.

Qrow saw the moment pass as those eyes fell to hands once more, and although he already harboured a notion, an idea, it was all baseless until Clover himself told him.

“I do...” the man breathed out in lingering sigh, and for a snatch of time, there was a hairline crack in the foundation. “Trust you, I mean. Qrow, when we were first partnered up on the field, I was- I was thrilled.” Hesitation desperately wanted to ball in his throat, and he swallowed it down, allowing a thumb to gently stroke at skin.

“The more I got to know you, I was honoured,” he continued, and Qrow felt his brow furrow lightly as the crack buried itself deeper. The operative pressed lips into a thin line, wading through words and decisively cutting down those that were unwanted. Deep thought painted itself across his expression like an unwilling canvas.

“But then I... I always knew why... why it...”

The words like a breath of regret, and for a handful of time, Qrow felt something in his chest tighten. He saw the way those eyes now avoided his gaze. He knew the way that placating touch felt. He heard the soft tone of pity in those words, something trying so hard to be gentle, but in the end, their brutal honesty was always like a knife.

He knew, and he lowered his own gaze to joined hands.

The sigh drifted from him in resigned apology, just as it always had.

He just  _knew_ it.

“My semblance isn't the easiest thing to deal with at the best of times,” he murmured, and he missed the way those green eyes darted back up to him, shattering through the veil.

“I'm... sor-”

“Qrow?”

There was surprise in the man's tone, and it was enough to draw his gaze up to meet those eyes, now firmly back upon him. Confusion nestled itself neatly between the two of them, and where the huntsman expected gentle acceptance of his words – disappointment, apologies even – he saw only brows furrowed.

Clover, too, saw the way those red eyes blinked back at him, startled a little from their own reverie. They ducked away briefly, taking stock of his tone before dark brows bunched.

“This... _is this_ about my semblance?” Qrow asked, soft and blunt between them, not following along _at all_ now. Clover almost gave in to the snort of amusement at the huntsman's tone. Something innocent and more than a little lost.

He was good at wearing his emotions on his sleeve, and the longer he was around him, the more he could appreciate the subtleties of each and every one of them.

“No! No, it's not,” he told him gently, smile warming his expression once more. “You're getting so much better at controlling it.”

Clover allowed his gaze to drop to hands once more, and the gentle sigh slipped from him. Perhaps, he thought, he shouldn't have opened his mouth at all, when all he seemed to be capable of doing was cluttering the issue and confounding the huntsman.

But, he also reasoned with himself, he owed it to him to be honest. To keep things between them unmuddied. Something he was  _supposed_ to be good at with his partner.

Qrow, to his credit, could only take in the man's hesitation as he saw it blossom before him. Tiny buds of it in each faint brush of a thumb upon skin. Petals forming as those green eyes ducked away, unable to focus too long on one place. Delicate blooms as his words breathed gentle and quiet into their shared space.

It wasn't about Misfortune.

Red eyes glanced to the side briefly, and he mulled through what he knew, everything he'd seen and heard and felt. Catalogued the way green eyes lingered, and how each glance carried a weight to them.

The mission had been a success, despite so many things failing him, and yet Clover had looked utterly exhausted by the end of it.

Almost as if...

_It's been good. For... both of us._

_I always knew why._

Those red eyes widened faintly as realisation began to trickle down the slope, pebbles clattering into the valley below one after the other.

He'd enjoyed so many things that the huntsman had shown him. That he'd delicately helped him sift and sort through. Had guided his hands towards, and helped brush fingertips across a rusted surface.

Lips parted and he knew.

“... it's yours.”

Those green eyes never moved from their place, and the barest whisper of a smile crossed those lips.

And Qrow  _knew_ .

“Clover...”

“My entire life has been about... finding balance,” the man said almost atop him. “Pushing myself further. Being the better person. Protecting those who can't protect themselves.”

The heavy sigh that tumbled from him caused shoulders to slump and the man looked so, so tired. Drastically so. Dark brows pinched as the stray thought dawned on him – had he been using his semblance the entire night? Longer even? The thought brought with it the weight of those green eyes as they watched the huntsman in secret. And all Qrow could do was watch him now in silence.

“To know that it's... it's hollow and nearly all for nought because everything you've ever done is based around something beyond your control.” The words fell gently from him, a vase pouring itself out upon the ground, and brunet brows furrowed as the cracks widened. “To know you're seen as little more than what you are, rather than who. And it's all you'll ever be.”

Red eyes flicked away, and Qrow felt the bitter ring in each and every one of the words that spilled from the man. All of them, as if he'd opened his own mouth and said exactly the same thing.

“And it's... it's exhausting,” Clover continued with a humourless huff, drawing a bottom lip tightly between teeth, stifling anything else that wanted to spill over.

Year upon years of bloodied practice at hating something that shaped him without his will, and cursing its existence to the dirt.

“... but then I came along,” the muttered words slipping from the huntsman without thought, and he drew his gaze back to meet those tired eyes. Behind them he saw the struggle years old. Knew the battle the man fought. Felt each blow and hit and scar as they bit deep time and time again.

“... and despite everything... all you wanted to do was help _me_.”

Those seafoam green eyes held his gaze steadily as the depth of his words began to settle, and Qrow saw the way the war had paused. How something had been delicately thrown off-kilter by the gentle words.

The huntsman felt his smile grow, warming his expression as he drew his other hand up to cover where fingers laced together. Fingertips curled tight about them both, holding firm as something in his chest tightened all the same.

“Knowing everything that you do, having gone through everything that you have...” Qrow's words trailed away for a moment as his tongue tasted smoke. “You saw someone just like you and wanted only to get to know them better. To... put yourself to the side and just...

“That... says more about you as a person than anything else I can think of,” he told him with gentle finality, shaking his head lightly. “And I'm glad... _more_ than glad, that no matter what, I was able to meet you.”

Green eyes flicked between his for a handful of time, widened and searching for the hook, and it was as if the huntsman had simply dashed all of his concerns to the stony ground before they could fully form. The unfortunate man, who had been struggling all his life to fight off the whims of fate, knowing precisely how to look past the what, and for the first time in Clover's life, seeing  _who_ stood there.

And he had absolutely no idea  _what_ to do.

There was a gentle laugh, almost jolting the brunet back into the space between them, and Qrow missed it as he smiled back at him with a warmth that nearly eclipsed everything that sat within his heart.

“Makes us both the luckiest guys alive, I guess.”

Clover let the gentle mirth from the huntsman reach him like a man standing within the waves; the sound of that laughter, amused at his own terrible joke, washing about his ankles. It was warm, it was familiar, and it was utterly welcome in his heart.

Luck was a bitter mistress, and for the two of them it had been a lifelong and fruitless game of courting her graces against their own wishes. On their own, it had been a dance upon rocky footing, where the steps were vastly unknown to them. A veritable age of learning the ebb and flow of disaster and deliverance.

Yet it was all in the name of weaving the two of them inexorably closer together, as luck watched on; smile curled coyly upon her lips as they learnt the dance side by side.

It helped to gently coax his own smile from the ashes, and something in his chest felt full. A little less incomplete. Like a missing puzzle piece had been collected from the floor and delicately clicked into place.

All given to him by a man who had been more than abused by the horrible hand life had dealt him.

Nothing could replace a lifetime of struggle and internalised discouragement; he knew it intimately. But to have someone at his side – someone who knew every little detail of it all, without the placating falsities they'd both grown numb to – it was...

It was encouraging.

His own breath of a laugh slipped from him, soft, and the tide receded. He drew his free hand up, finding the curve of a cheek and brushing knuckles delicately across skin. A simple graze of adoration before he threaded fingertips back into darker hair, giving a gentle pull and encouraging foreheads to meet.

No, he wasn't good, and it wasn't over by a long shot; but he was... better.

Utterly so.

He only wished the huntsman knew how deeply his appreciation ran.

“Sounds like a line I'd say,” he told him, feeling the warmth of their closeness and the gentle squeeze of those fingers about his own. Red eyes almost sparkled at the quip, and he was glad to see the return of that smile.

He knew luck was cruel. That's simply how it was.

Yet all he wanted to do was show the man how kind life could be, despite her thorny heart.

He wanted to be the one to help  _him_ for a change, no matter what that meant.

“Come take it back then,” he breathed in simple challenge.

Those green eyes blinked back at him, and little thrown by the sudden remark, and he almost laughed again. He enjoyed it, he realised, and had done so ever since the huntsman's first words to him. There was an openness to him; an honesty that he'd sorely missed in his life, and he relished that little spark of rebellion he seemed to carry wherever he went.

He wanted to see more of it, and couldn't help but be enamoured by it.

Despite everything, Qrow carried with him a zest for life that seemed indomitable.

Clover longed for the taste of it.

So he did what he yearned for, and took the direct route.

Fingers slipped from dark hair, and the man drew back, much to the light confusion of the other. It was compounded as he stood, and those red eyes followed his gaze, tilted skywards. Clover still kept their fingers tangled together; a contact he refused to break, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was stand before the huntsman, and bask in what he saw.

Something that both of them only saw as fractures that ran so deep. Scars that travelled deeper than bone. A perseverance to fight something so intrinsically linked to their very souls.

Clover drew himself easily into the huntsman's space, knees nestling either side of his lap as he straddled him in the seat. He saw the way simple surprise ebbed, and in its place came a gentle smile, wry at the edges as red eyes skirted the man's features.

Fate was cruel.

But sometimes, it could be very kind indeed.

“... don't mind if I do.”

It was all he breathed into the scant space between them, and he felt the way fingers tracked up the front of his uniform to rest atop his sternum. His own fingers traced their former path once more as they threaded into dark hair, tasting promised warmth from that smile.

Lips met gently, and Clover felt the fracture begin to collapse upon itself. Little by little, the cracks began to mend, and he sighed into the scant space where they bled into one another.

Fingertips curled light into his uniform, and he felt as a hand unthreaded from his own, slipping past the curve of a waist to settle at the small of his back; holding him securely in place. Keeping him right where the huntsman needed him.

Right where they both needed one another.

How strange a thing, he thought. For the first time in years, possibly his entire life, Clover had found himself alongside someone who knew intimately the struggles of fate. Someone who'd been dealt the hand of fortunes ill and still found it within himself to be so kind and utterly warm to those important to him.

He never wanted to take him or that kindness for granted, and in each and every one of those glances lay the question burning upon his tongue. He wanted desperately to know; he ached to learn from him. He longed to tell him everything.

It was a conversation that lingered like smoke in his mind; a dream from years long gone that seemed all too distant some days. But he'd found someone – _someone_ – who knew what it was like and who shared the same gods forsaken struggles.

And in such a short snatch of time, he'd become so utterly precious to him, and he felt himself almost rushing to catch himself. To remind himself to slow down. To stop. To wait.

He wanted almost desperately to curl his fingers about this little flame he'd found. To keep it safe and nurture it so. But to hold it too close would be to smother it, so he tried in vain to ignore the beating of his own heart.

A silly notion, really, when the huntsman before him only yearned for the very same thing.

Clover knew intimately that fortune could change with the turning of the tide, and each and every time he felt the air about him subtly shift, something within him would be drawn immediately to the huntsman, and his eagerness would flare anew.

For having only known him for so little a time, he almost felt incredibly selfish.

He didn't want to lose him, and it burned into his chest with a tightness that almost hurt as fingers curled into dark hair.

He might even love him, just a little, and the thought shivered down his spine.

“Cloves...”

The whisper bled between them, and he wanted to hear that voice say little else. Wanted his name upon those lips, and his fingers clutched at a fire of a different kind. The hand upon a uniform front trailed further to the column of his neck, relishing in the heat of skin upon skin and pulling him further against the huntsman, wanting only to drown. Wanting only-

The world came to an abrupt jolting stop about them, fingers clenching hard in startle, and Clover whipped his gaze over his shoulder so quickly he swore he almost pulled something. In a flicker of panic he darted his gaze across the console. Controls steady and holding, autopilot still engaged, the Academy in-

The  _Academy?_

“Bit of a hard landing there two-six-four. Everything alright?”

The radio crackled to life about them, and Qrow had the downright  _audacity_ to bury his face into the curve of the brunet's shoulder to stifle his laughter as a gloved hand slapped almost blindly for the radio receiver.

“Autopilot- uh, brief malfunction,” he nearly spluttered in response, and the laughter nearly turned into a coughing fit. Qrow had never heard the man _splutter_ before, and it was downright killing him to not burst out in raucous laughter.

“Alright, we'll have it checked out. Clear to disembark.”

Clover blinked into the world about him, and he swallowed through a tight throat before stretching back a little to reach the console. With a few carefully aimed flicks, he powered down the hefty machine, effectively killing all lines of communication to the command tower.

It was only then that he sighed heavily, and half a heartbeat later, Qrow's laughter sang out brightly through the cockpit. Clover could only turn back to face him, smile easily gracing his lips as he joined him in the mirthful sound. Hands found their way to the brunet's waist, clasping gently behind him as foreheads pressed together.

“Alright,” Qrow asked him between snuffles, still grinning like a fool. “Was that yours or mine?”

Clover could only smile warmly back at him, and fingers tucked under a chin to steal a brief kiss from the huntsman, effectively silencing the brat for a moment.

“We'll just have to tempt fate and find out,” he told him with a wink.


End file.
